His Captain's Voice
by Hopeakaarme
Summary: You hate to admit it but you cannot resist his voice, it draws you in despite your best efforts, and though you resist the urge to follow his commands you cannot help but want to hear more. Shounen ai OshiAto. December fic for the 12th.


Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Konomi Takeshi does. I'm merely playing with them for the moment.

A/N: Ever since the 1st of December, I have been posting one fic/update a day over at my LJ, **lumelle**. These updates have been in series of five fics sharing a theme.

The third series of five is about the five senses. This one centres around sound.

* * *

His Captain's Voice

For all that everyone talks about his appearance and striking presence, the thing you've always noticed about him first and foremost is his voice.

There are many people who can command with their voices, many who can get people to obey by a word, yet somehow his seems even more special. A mere word from him will bring an entire audience to roars, another will soothe them into silence; and a snap of his fingers will get them performing exactly as he wishes as though they were merely extensions of his own person. When he yells, everyone hears him; the sound is so piercing it is impossible to ignore. Yet he doesn't have to, you know that well, he doesn't have to yell or shout or scream to be heard; his voice reaches far and wide even as he merely speaks to them, every last word taken to heart by those who listen to him, whether they wish or not.

His voice is captivating, much though you hate to admit it; you hate to admit that sometimes, when he's delivering one of his grand speeches, you almost join the chant that will follow, almost follow his instructions because that voice simply draws you in. You have a strong will, though, you're not that easily deterred, not even though his voice is like pure honey, sweet and alluring. You merely look at him harshly and remember everything else, remember all those times you've heard his voice in quite different tones, the arrogant taunts and the angry words spat out as though they were something too vile for him to keep them in his mouth for more than a moment. You've heard the quiet murmurs, haven't you, the ones he never allows outsiders to hear, it wouldn't do for them to know just how exhausted he sometimes is as a result of his endless show after all.

You remind yourself of all this, and yet you're almost drawn in, even though you remember all those times his voice is less than attractive you can't help but secretly nod to the charm of his words. They're designed for that, aren't they, those lovely tones of his are specifically uttered for the sake of controlling the masses, and such masses that he does waver by nothing but a few words from his lips. There are other words too, the strict commands that nobody seems to be able to disobey, much though you'd like you often just sigh and do as you're told, murmuring something about him in insult yet you do as you're told because his voice is almost impossible to ignore.

People often tell you your voice is alluring, girls are drawn to it and so are some of the boys, yet you know it's more a matter of your dialect than truly the quality of your voice and even though your English sounds nice enough it still doesn't have the exact same charm of your softly drawled Oosakan. He speaks five languages fluently and uses them all, you've heard them all in one day sometimes, the usual Japanese as he addresses the club or the others around him, some quiet murmurs of English as he's frustrated or angered that aren't directed at anyone at all, the strange tones of German as he speaks on his phone, the irritatingly flawless Greek as he goes over his homework while hurrying from morning practice to the first class of the day, the French instructions to the exchange student he's working with for the student council. The magic is the same in them all, you note, the same tones of allure and command and even the endless narcissistic gloats that never fail to drive you crazy with annoyance, even though his voice seems to change, sharper in one language and softer in the other. Others say it's yet another sign of his perfection, his endless skills and talent, while a tiny part of you remains convinced it's merely the power of his voice that allows him to utter all those words without a flaw.

The more you hear his voice, the more it annoys you, yet at the same time you yearn to hear more of it. There's a part of you that wants to hear it directed solely to yourself, words just for you, and that part of you causes you to seek those words, even if they are in reprimand or those harsh commands. When he's talking to you his voice is yours, for the moment, others may hear it as well but it's yours all the same, for a fleeting moment all its tones and magic are reserved solely for you and sometimes it seems worth anything in their content to simply own those tones. You run a lot of laps whenever this part of you takes charge, every week more than the last one, and you hear others whispering about your misconduct yet you can't help yourself.

Even when there's noise he is the one you hear, the one you listen to; even through the gaggle of voices in the regulars' club room you hear him, there may be Gakuto speaking directly to you and he may be talking to Kabaji instead but even then you can't help but listen to his words alone, can't help but be drawn in even though he doesn't even mean it.

You seek out his company and he doesn't seem to mind except when you're annoying him on purpose, but even then you get to hear more of his voice but that's okay. You might even swear he does it on his own sometimes, asks you to stay behind or draws you aside during practice, and sometimes he doesn't even seem to have anything important to say yet he never fails to find something to pass his lips, that magic of his voice will do the work for you. You're feeling hopeful but keep telling yourself to forget it, telling yourself it's your ridiculously romantic heart that's misleading you so cruelly, that there's nothing in his actions at least not in the way you would like to interpret them.

You're still the one who finally takes the first step, in the end, amazingly enough you interrupt his voice, there's nobody else around and he's talking to you and it's not in an annoyed manner, for once, he's almost satisfied and that is just too much for you to handle, and before you even realize what you're doing your lips are covering his. He is too shocked for a moment to even push you away, and when he does you tell yourself he could sound much angrier than he does, he seems more irritated that you interrupted him than for the fact you kissed him without even asking him first.

There are so many words he can say, so many tones you can detect in your voice, and now you know you aren't just imagining it as he talks to you more and more. Even when he's addressing everyone you could swear he is truly directing his words at you, dedicating his lovely voice to you once again as though it were some sort of secret between the two of you. You discover new tones to his voice, gentler ones, and ones even more charming, and there's a certain quality to his laugh when he's actually just purely happy instead of triumphant or manic or sarcastic that makes you wish you could catch that laughter and put it in a jar to keep. You can't, though, and thus you merely resolve to make him laugh more, to make him be happy, to give that peculiar tone to his voice that tells he's amused and it's not at someone else's expense for once.

Each of those new sounds is a treasure all in itself, the soft endearments and the happy chuckles and the breathless tone as he draws back after a kiss, the soft sighs and moans that escape his lips as you finally make love, and yet the most precious of them all is the sound of your name falling from his lips again and again like raindrops from the edge of a roof. His voice is like a rope tying you to him, you cannot tear yourself away and you really don't even want to, much though you hate the power his commands hold over even you you're still a willing slave to his voice, you may not jump at his merest indication like Kabaji yet the more you try to escape his orders the less you truly can resist.

And for all that you love his voice, for all that his words seem to draw you in despite your best efforts, you still find that the sounds of his quiet breaths as he falls asleep in your arms are yet sweeter.


End file.
